


Cannible in the Kitchen

by Exultation_of_the_Gryphon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animalistic, Bunkers, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Dark Harry, Dark Magic, Eating, Escape, Horcruxes, Isolation, Loneliness, Loss of Limbs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Moral Bankruptcy, Moral Dilemmas, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Organ Theft, Powerful Harry Potter, Rape, Situational Humiliation, Starvation, Survival, Survival Horror, Transformation, Trapped, Unconsciousness, Voldemort Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4328616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exultation_of_the_Gryphon/pseuds/Exultation_of_the_Gryphon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort has a lair that doubles as a bunch of connected bunkers. Harry gets trapped in the kitchen section with an unconscious Voldemort.</p><p>After a few weeks he runs out of food and starts on Voldie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cannible in the Kitchen

_Alright, my dear readers. This came to me late last night so I am recording this madness for our mutual laughter and disturbance. Be sure to tell me what you think. 7/12/15._

* * *

 

Cannibal in the Kitchen

Start of rewriting, 1/5/16.

Harry groaned as he sneezed himself awake. He hurt all over. He lay still, trying to catch his breath, huffing against the dust in the air all around. 

Where was he? It was dim and dusty, with spikes of light casting spots of brightness onto the floor. The lights were irregular. He felt around for his glasses, brushing his fingers along the dirty stone floor until he caught hold of the plastic frames.

Tall cabinets in dark wood met his focused gaze now, dust motes floating through the light beams. Now he could see that several lights were dark, with bits of the stone from the ceiling crumbling on the ground. 

Was the ceiling going to cave in? He peered up at it, but lacking any sort of background in stone, had no idea if it would finished collapsing and crush him under it. He staggered to his feet, one hand around his ribs and the other on the cold granite of the counter tops.

Huh. Was this Voldemort's kitchen? He stared at what looked like a muggle oven and stove combination. Well. Who knew that the Dark Lord cooked?

Casting around he spotted two large sets of double doors, cast in the same dark wood as the cabinets. Carefully, with a hand out to support himself on the walls or counter tops, he crossed the room to try first one set, then along the wall to try the other. Both were solidly fixed closed. Physically and magically, as far as he could pick up.

His Alohomora-ing did no good at least and they wouldn't budge when he turned the knobs and yanked or pushed.

He crossed the room again to sit at the heavily decorated table. The chairs were nice, he thought, as he sank into one. They had thick padding covered in green-scaled hide. Harry supposed that scales would make cleaning up spills easy to do. He leaned back and thought for a few minutes.

He appeared to be in Voldemort's kitchen. He seemed to be alone. He seemed to be trapped. Doubtlessly, the Death Eaters that had chased him here were waiting outside, more than ready to start cursing him again.

He yawned and pushed himself to his feet again. He stared down as his bloody and bruised hand, pale and red red-streaked against the glass-topped carvings of the table. Blinking against his daze, he shook his head. He needed to find out if there was any food at least, if he might be stuck here for a while. He took another deep breath and sneezed again. The sneeze, like those earlier, still hurt his ribs.

He began with the near side of the cabinets in the island, discovering neat arrangements of gleam pots and pans. Standing up, he rounded the corner and spotted a body.

 

Someone else was here. Were they dead? He couldn't tell if they were breathing or not.

The body had been completely hidden from him before by the long island and he stared down at it in shock. 

Pale hands splayed out from long, baggy sleeves. A heavy black hood completely covered the head of the prone body and the feet were likewise hidden by the overly long robe.

 

Where they alive? There was a good chance this person was a Death Eater... They would try to curse him and bring him to Voldemort when they woke up.

What should he do? As he was not needing to act right away he had the luxury of panicking. He let the tall cabinet support him and slid down the front, bumping along the carved surface, but thankfully not catching on a handle.

 

What to do? What to do? It he wanted to stay free, well, he'd have to kill this unknown person. He sucked in a sharp breath and wheezed on the dust. He coughed and spluttered. 

 

First, he really needed a drink. Then he'd try to think of other solutions. He pulled himself up again and quietly searched for a glass. He discovered stacks of shimmering green glass plates and bowls by the sink and opening the door next to it, rows of glasses in different shapes and shades of green. 

 

He pulled a pale green one that looked recently used and filled it up at the very Muggle looking tap. He sipped at the water swished it around his mouth before spiting out the muddy water. Again and then he finally swallowed a big gulp, relishing the way the cool water cut away the dust choking him.

He turned to stare at the body again as he sipped.

 

Well, he needed to kill the person or find away to keep them unconscious until help arrived. He wandered around the massive kitchen, looking for knives. Nearly five drawers were completely full of labeled knife trays. Some were plain Muggle Steel, titled with something he didn't understand. What did High-Carbon Stainless Steel 420A mean? Damascus steel blades were next. The next drawer had variations in iron and silver, while the third had small blades of gold, platinum, titanium, and other precious metals. He'd never heard of anything that should be prepared with those, but who knew what Voldemort had heard of. Specialty blades in all shapes and sizes followed made of obsidian, other stones, and diamond. The fifth drawer was stocked with blades made of bone, fang, and claws or all sorts of creatures.

Voldemort was weird.

Harry pulled out a short and kind of thin blade from the iron set. He didn't know if that Death Eater was human but there were a lot of nasty things that did poorly when exposed to iron.

 

1/5/16 rewrite end. Old text resumes below.

 

Harry was not entirely sure how he came to be trapped in the kitchen of the Dark Lord's lair. But he was here and somehow when Voldemort tried to force his way past his own wards, he had misjudged his position upon Apparating and knocked himself out on an overhanging cabinet.

It appeared to Harry that thanks to Voldemort's justified paranoia the man had warded and rendered each room in his domain a bunker in both the magical and Muggle sense. Thus the Death Eaters that had been chasing him around were unable to get in.

However, by the same token, Harry could not leave either.

He was not so bold as to try and kill Voldemort in his own house just yet. After all, while bunker-qualified and defensive as it was it appeared, Harry suspected it might have offensive qualities and booby traps. Still that meant that when Voldemort woke up the man would probably try and kill him.

Harry pondered many things in the next half hour as he tried to work up his courage to take one of the kitchen's knives and stab the Dark Lord to death. He considered his squeamishness and pondered the fact that he might be dead soon enough if he couldn't. His meandering trains of thought led him to the unhappy contemplation of his current state of virginity.

He did not want to die without having that supposedly blissful act of sex. He looked over at Voldemort. His options were very limited if he wanted to change that. He brooded over the Dark Lord's unconscious body and stalked around the kitchen, eyeballing the skeletal form from multiple angles.

He decided to go for it and mustered the Gryffindor courage needed to stick his little snake where no trouser snake had been stuck before. He carefully stripped the man. Pale skin wrapped tightly around jutting bones, revealing blue veins spider-webbing underneath and transparent scales over top at close inspection. His skin held no other blemish, not even a belly button or nipple marred his alabaster surface. The naked head lolled on the floor as Harry inadvertently jostled him, eyes still beneath the fragile, bruised lids in unknowing unconscious.

Harry touched the delicate limbs, thin boned as a bird's and pale as milk on the pooling black silk of his loosened robes. He ran careful fingers over the slight muscles of his chest, rubbing back and forth over the points where nipples should be to see if he could feel what he was not seeing. The slightest ripples marked his abdominal muscles over the concave gut and farther down the man's marble scepter and crown jewels lay pale between his legs as Harry spread them. The thighs were tough and thick with strong muscle, previously belied by the thinness of his calves and Harry carefully flipped him over to examine his target.

Like his thighs, Voldemort's gluteus maximus was strong and well proportioned. Harry discovered then and there that he was attracted to nice butts and that Voldemort seemed to have a very nice one. As Harry's dorm-mates discussed all manner of lewd topics, Harry knew just what to do. He inspected the pantry and found some olive oil, returned to Voldemort, cast a cleaning spell on his ass, greased up his left hand, and shoved his forefinger into the tight sphincter.

Voldemort groaned and shifted. Harry frowned and cast Stupefy on his soon-to-be-victim. Voldemort's uncomfortable shifting subsided and Harry shoved in his middle finger too.

After finding and playing with the Dark Lord's prostate Harry pulled out his fingers, yanked down his trousers and pants, lay on top of the man, and shoved his Gryffindor sword into a Slytherin sheathe.

Harry shortly concluded that the experience of this tight, blissful heat was worth trading an easy death for a far more horrible one and gleefully set to work pounding the Dark Lord's arse.

Shortly after he came in Voldemort's personal Chamber of Secrets and he rolled off of the man's bony back and onto the floor.

He giggled inanely. The ludicrousness of the act he had just committed was astounding. He couldn't bring himself to kill his enemy while he was asleep to save his own life but he had just... Well, just raped the same individual so he wouldn't be a virgin when he died.

He felt really good physically, calmer mentally, and a bit hungry now that he was calmer. He washed off his hands and started investigating the kitchen for food. Finding sliced meat and a loaf of bread, he prepared a couple sandwiches and sat down at the table to eat.

He pondered his next step as he chewed. Well, he still couldn't leave. There was nothing much for him to do - the kitchen was completely cut off from the rest of the lair and he had no idea how long he would be down here.

He looked over at Voldemort. Well, he could always have some more sex while he was alive. Not much else to do.

* * *

 

 

Harry was getting bored. He was pretty sure he'd been down here about three days now judging by the mechanical clock and the amount of potatoes he'd put on the counter when he realized he might want a way to track the time.

His cock was kinda sore so he didn't feel like buggering the sleeping Dark Lord again just yet.

He sighed and returned to the soup he was making. Since Voldemort hadn't woken up to kill Harry, or even feed himself, it seemed Harry would have to feed him to avoid having a dead body in here until he was rescued. Also, he would loose his main form of entertainment if Voldemort died because it would be really gross to try and have more sex if he were dead and then grosser still as the corpse started to rot.

He'd needed to clean up piss and shit already when the Dark Lord unknowingly relieved himself but it had started becoming smaller amounts by the second day and hardly anything by the third. He vaguely remembered that humans needed water before three days were up or they'd die. While he wasn't quite sure if Tom qualified since he had been re-embodied in a Dark ritual as a humanoid snake-thing he had dribbled water into the man's mouth just in case.

He was also running out of fresh food. It seemed that whomever supplied this kitchen had been planning on going shopping shortly before Harry had inadvertently claimed it. There was still dried and canned things and all the fresh water he could need via the sink but still.

He checked the freezer while the soup simmered. Well, there was frozen meat and veggies in there so he should be good on that for a few more days. He grabbed some ice cubes and let them clatter into a bowl. He ladled the broth over the ice which cracked with the heat. Setting that down on the counter, he propped Tom up against the wall in preparation for feeding.

It was difficult for Harry to feed the man, and messy too but he preserved. Voldemort would survive another few days.

* * *

 

Harry was very upset. It had been nearly a week since he had gotten stuck down here and he had nothing to do. He vengefully screwed the senseless body of his enemy into the floor again. He left a series of bites on the flawless skin. Some drew blood but he hardly cared.

He bathed in the sink with the shower attachment then dried the area with his wand. Bored. So bored. He cleaned Voldemort with wet washcloths and dried him.

* * *

 

By day thirteen Harry was starting to run out of things to cook from the fridge or freezer. The pantry was starting to look a little bare. And he was getting angry. Voldemort's hole was raw with fucking and his body was covered with scabbed over bites. Harry paced and ran around the room for lack of anything better to do.

* * *

  

By day sixteen the pantry was mostly bare and Harry was hungry. He'd eaten the few potatoes a while ago and was now leaving knife marks on the wall to keep track of time. He was still feeding Voldemort some of the food that he cooked, for the same reasons he had come up with before. But. Hmm. Perhaps Voldemort could donate an arm to the cause? Harry smiled like a shark, green eyes cold and teeth inhumanly sharp.

He made a tourniquet of sorts around the elbow of the man's wand arm and pulled it very tight. A numbing and cutting spell later and Harry now had some fresh meat for their six o'clock soup.

* * *

 

Day twenty, Voldemort was down both arms up to the shoulder. Still no signs of rescue but Harry was now covered in scales much as Voldemort was. Apparently his skin condition was transmittable. Harry was spending a lot of time sleeping in between bouts of sex, using his wand to wake him up at regular intervals to cook, clean the kitchen, himself and Voldemort, and every other day to remove a joint of meat.

It seemed like Harry had some sort of access to Voldemort's spell repertoire now. Sometimes when he needed to do something a spell would pop into his mind that he had never learned. He thought long and hard on getting out of the kitchen, of Apparating, of Portkeys, of passwords to end the lock-down so he could get into the rest of the lair but nothing came to mind. He would have to wait and eat more of Voldemort, he figured, to get more spells out of him.

* * *

 

By the time that Voldemort was down to his head, torso and thighs, Harry had learned a number of medical and/or torture skills that would let him heal the edges of Voldemort's wounds that he had previously burned to prevent infection and other evaluative spells to check on his general well being. Harry was astonished to discover that Voldemort's inhuman body was not entirely male and that Harry had managed to start screwing Voldemort at the right time to catch the end of his biannual fertility cycle and knock him up.

Harry let this information drift to the back of his mind as he pondered what he should eat next. He didn't want to take off the thighs because that would affect his sex life and taking off the head would be tricky. Not impossible though, Harry had learned spells over the last day or so that would encourage the heart and lungs to keep working without prompting from the brain and his guts too. And it's not like Harry ever desired to kiss Voldemort, what with his piranha like mouth, so perhaps that should be the next to go. He could pour the broth down his neck opening like one could feed a headless chicken and so long as his heart was beating Harry was sure the wards would think the man was still alive.

* * *

 

 

Harry had not enjoyed the head too much. The brain had a weird texture, the eyes were like bad tasting grapes, and even with bone flaying spells there had not been much meat on the head after he finished the tongue. Still he had gotten another few days of sex out of it, cuddling the Dark Lord's torso like a body pillow.

When he got around to eating the thighs he discovered they were delicious and provided another six days of meat.

He wondered when he would get Voldemort's traveling knowledge. Would he need to consume the heart itself to finally escape his enemy's domain?

All that was left of Voldemort's body at this point was his torso. He would have to work carefully to get the best muscles off of that skinny thing without disturbing the organs. This would also definitely prevent him from any more sex. Damnation and pestilence.

He needed to avoid disturbing the heart and baby until the very last. There was still hope of rescue left in him, for all that it was getting close to a month down here.

* * *

 

 

Day twenty-eight left Voldemort nothing more than a floating bunch of organs, nerves, blood, and lymph vessels suspended in a conjured liquid in a cauldron. His esophagus was pinned to the side to prevent the thing from drowning. His anus was similarly pinned to a hole in the bottom of the cauldron to empty out underneath.

There was still muscle meat left after Harry had flayed the bones of his torso and that had been stored in the fridge for the next couple of day's meals.

Harry reached into the liquid and carefully pulled the object a spell had identified as the womb. It was time to deal with the baby. He had stripped down for a short little ritual and pressed the dripping pouch to his abdomen. When he began chanting over the muscular pouch squiggles drawn in blood on his skin began to glow and move around. His skin sort of liquefied and expanded outward to engulf the pouch and he severed the Voldemort's joining blood vessels and related tubes with caution as he joined it to newly created tubing within himself. A quick stasis charm on the fetus ensured it would not grow until he removed the spell. Thankfully this would render the costs of supporting its life himself minimal while he was still in jeopardy of starvation. The womb squelched into his abdominal cavity and with a final slurp his muscles and skin lay flat again with just a little bulge to show the insertion of the foreign organ.

No longer caring about feeding the remaining organs much, Harry stretched Voldemort’s meat out another four days by feeding very minimal amounts to the tubing in the cauldron. After that he began parceling out the organs. A kidney one day, part of the liver the next, sections of intestine after that. He was gaining all sorts of knowledge but it was like _Something_ was deliberately not giving him the information of wards and magical travel that he needed to escape. Was Voldemort still conscious as a spirit bound to the living organs, denying the most important information even if it lost everything else to the ravenous teenager?

He began a spell that would allow a heart to connect to another person to keep it alive, like an external parasite. He would finish off the organs soon. While he doubted he would get the information he needed to escape perhaps he would get enough to survive activation of the death wards.

* * *

 

 

On day thirty-five, Harry swallowed down the heart whole and still beating. The spells on it would keep it alive and circulating a small amount of oxygenated blood even as Harry's stomach acid began to dissolve it.

He began casting the extensive defensive spells he had learned over the last few weeks and practiced in his times of greatest boredom. He coated himself in shimmering shields that laced together in in honeycomb patterns and surrounded him like a geodesic dome. He could almost feel the heart beating more irregularly as he digested it, almost feel the anxiety of the spirit trapped within panic as it was forced to give up its secrets.

During these last moments of the heart's life, he understood finally why Voldemort had not woken up. The horcrux in Harry transmitted (more or less) the sensations of intense pleasure to Voldemort but warped the transmission enough so that it interfered with the magic binding his fractured soul to his vessel. If one was to compare Voldemort to a sending cell phone and his body to the receiving cell phone. The magic that connected the two and kept Voldie's soul from just falling out was like the communication satellite in between. The information and magic coming from the horcrux every time Harry came was like intense solar radiation and so interfered with and damaged the connection between the tattered, blackened soul and its flesh.

Given that the connection was organic it could have healed given long enough times between bouts of sex, thus allowing Voldemort to wake up. Harry's teenage randiness served him well however and kept Voldemort knocked out until Harry's morals were compromised enough by hunger and infection from Voldemort's hybrid creature to actually take the step beyond just killing the Dark Lord to actually eat another sentient being.

Moments later the lair imploded.

* * *

 

 

The booby taps activated with the last beat of Voldemort's heart. In that same moment Harry Apparated away to safety. He was fortunate that his personal wards had taken the blast and he escaped with only splinters and a very slight, full body burn.

He fell with a grunt on the hard stone outside the hut on the rock where Vernon had once sought shelter for his family from the horrible letters that had invited Harry to Hogwarts. He stared up at the mesmerizing blue sky and felt an intense sensation of vertigo. He collapsed to his hands and knees and vomited out a thick black oily thing. It puddled on the rocks, instantly beginning to steam away into a red-eyed cloud of doom. It snarled at him and tried to fly away as Harry spat out more of the liquified remnants of Voldemort. However it jerked to a stop as though the tail that led back to Harry had gotten stuck. As Harry retched again he felt the hang-up as his scar tried to yank itself into his skull. He just managed to dodge the regurgitated liquid as he fell over and curled up, hands to his head as he tried to breath against the intense migraine that had so suddenly sprang up. He scrabbled at the scar, trying to loosen the soul fragment with the dark magic that he had learned. Finally it gave and the spirit soared away over the water into the dazzling blue.

Harry became aware that he was sobbing, face wet and sticky with tears and blood. He curled up tighter and just held on to the rocks and his clothing for a while, trying to anchor himself.

The sun was noticeably lower and gulls had gathered by the time he tried moving again. The birds scattered with dismayed calls when he pushed himself into a seated position. He pulled out his wand and banished the mess and put up a handful of personal wards, a cushioning spell, and a disillusionment charm then lay back again. It was beyond him after that inadvertent battle over the soul shard to Apparate to the edge of Hogwart's grounds and then walk the couple miles or so back to the school proper.

 

He settled in to sleep on the magically cushioned, sun-warmed rocks.

* * *

 

 

_This could use some continuation, but I am not sure what needs to be added. Feel free to offer ideas if you think of something. (Also, still in the process of editing, thank you for your patience. 7/13/15.)_

 

_Word count: 3020_

 


End file.
